Meditation?

I’m… I… things-

There are a few attempts at writing, which are heavily scratched out, before something coherent begins.

I’m s’posed to take up… meditating now, as part’ve a type’ve trainin’. I guess that writing what I think or feel wouldn’t hurt that any. Help me… help me get some’ve what’s maybe buzzin’ in my head too loud down unto paper, down in a book where I can shut it when I’m done.

I don’t want to sound like things are worse than ‘fore, ’cause they really ain’t. I think I’m gonna get better, be strong, less runnin’ and more holdin’ ground. Least, that’s what I’m hopin’ for.

Verrin and me’ve decided to become brother’n sister, after a fashion. We understand each other, and we’ve both caused each other a world’ve hurt–maybe it’d be better to cut our losses and not have nothin’ to do with each other any more, but this’d just be one more thing I’d be runnin’ from. Sides, it’s my responsibility to stand with him where I can, after I… after I tore down everything else he had. I can’t abandon him and save myself.

The Silverlord’s taken up trainin’ me, and that’s also part’ve why I’m s’posed to be meditatin’ or whatnot. Want’s to teach me not to run, or somethin’–which is an awful nice thought, but I don’t think there’s no trainin’ you can offer that teaches a person that. They just gotta learn by example, and I figure maybe that’ll work out.  The personal attention by a superior any somethin’ I’m much used to, but the lessons are valuable ’nuff. It’s more responsibility, though, ‘nother person directly lookin’ over me and seein’ that I do go and mess things up.

Few nights ago, at the meetin’, I was promoted to Guardian. The first time I was offered promotion was a while back, when… when I’d first got a glimpse’ve a memory, got a glance at the vicious thing that lives under my skin somewhere. Was also when I’d turned Zaliron away, and felt like everythin’ was too close and that I didn’t have the distance to uphold that new rank. Now… now I’m gonna try, rather than runnin’. I wasn’t definitely ready then, and maybe I ain’t really ready now, but I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.

This is… this is important ’cause’ve what else it meant. I…

I can’t be strong, can’t stop runnin’ if I’ve always got someone to run to. Someone that… that maybe I unfairly built my hopes ’round as bein’ not part’ve the rest’ve my life. And that ain’t fair. It ain’t fair to maybe attach your romantic feelin’s to someone on the grounds that you’re hopin’ you never got to worry ’bout it interferin’ with your ‘real’ life, your life’ve duty.

I think I regret that more’n anything, what I did to Kaste. If I had only… if I had only stopped and thought ’bout it, just taken a damn second to think- I could’ve stopped it from becomin’ what it did. ‘Course, I was convinced that I didn’t have the time, didn’t have the right frame’ve mind, that it wouldn’t have mattered. I wanted a gods-damned place to hide once the Verrin stuff was all taken care’ve, and it wasn’t till afterwards that I realized that that… it ain’t right to love someone just for what they represent, not what they are. I… I know I love Kaste right as a friend, that that’s for who he is, but my romantic feelings were too hung ’round escapism. Was the same gods-damned way with Zaliron, and that ain’t right.

Gonna try to learn from my mistakes though. Ain’t gettin’ romanticly involved with no one no time soon, far as I’m concerned.

Confrontations in the Drag

I could kill Kaste.

We were talkin’ when Verrin showed up. Kaste left when I told him too… but kept within earshot.

We argued. Everytime I got close ’nuff to Verrin to get a good hold on him, he’d back away. Durgan was in control for the most part, and as angry as Durgan makes me… I can turn that anger into somethin’ useful. He said that… he said that he told Verrin ’bout me.

Verrin will know not to trust him, right? At least, not to… well, he’ll know that I had my reasons for what I’ve done. He has to know that. Killing Durgan hadn’t been ’bout just… just wantin’ to hurt someone, anyone–or at least if it had been, then he wasn’t exactly a bad choice–right?

No. I ain’t gonna feel guilty for what I did. I’m done with that. If Verrin wants to ask after it, when he’s got his own mind back… then I’ll tell him ’bout it. Can’t worry ’bout it now.

Tythis talked for a while, and I think I lost some’ve my temper. It’s strange, but it’s harder to keep myself from edgin’ closer to disaster when I’m speakin’ with him. I guess ’cause he ain’t part’ve my past–and ’cause he’s a lot smarter than Durgan, for sure. Makes me more nervous than the Dalaran trash.

Kaste came back, wanted to help.

Gods, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry ’bout any’ve it. Kaste… insulted Verrin’s pants, of all things.  I love Kaste. I want him to be with me on this. I want someone there to say stupid things and act like it’s nothin’ more’n a playground fight, but who’s got the spine to fight even if it’s a lot more dangerous than that.

I said some hurtful things to Kaste. I was angry. I still am angry. I made him promise to keep out’ve it, and somehow I’m still lettin’ him find a way in. Told him I didn’t want to see him again till all’ve this mess was sorted out.  He chased after Verrin, but Verrin got away.

I think Chrysalis might be in trouble. She told me that I couldn’t blame myself for not bein’ everywhere at once, but- it’s just- I’m playin’ defense, and it don’t suit me, and I think that shows. I’m tired of havin’ to response, of bein’ the one that’s gotta work on someone else’s terms. All the same, I’ve got to wait, and wait, and wait. Got to let things line up. I can’t mess anythin’ up by rushin’ headlong in a situation that I ain’t gonna be able to control.

Something Durgan said was right, though. I hurt my friends. The people I’m s’posed to care ’bout, who love me, I end up hurtin’ them, whether I mean to or not. I shouldn’t let nothin’ he says affect me, but…

But if it’s true, then I’m bein’ selfish if I think that I should be with Kaste. Gods… tellin’ him he can’t protect me, ’cause I’m ‘fraid he’ll end up gettin’ hurt in the process? It stings somethin’ awful to be a hypocrite, but if the alternative is seein’ him… get hurt…

I hurt the people I care ’bout.

Somethings wrong with me.

The Nature of Hypocrisy

Just got finishd talkin’ with Chrysalis. She… killed Verrin. I had her word that she wouldn’t, but by accident, she did. I was furious for ’bout a second: “How can you accidently kill someone-”, I had been startin’ to rage, but…

Heh.

At the last meetin’ I spoke up for opening the Guards doors to every race of the Horde–for wantin’ people to qualify on what they’d done with the life given to ‘em, not what they were born as. I mean, either way it won’t bother me too much, though I do think that if we open past Sin’dorei, we need to be openin’ to everyone. S’only acceptable.

Ysabelle… well, I think she thinks that I only feel the way I do ’cause’ve Kaste, and that ain’t the reason. The Silverlord said somethin’ similar. Is that what it seems like, then? That I’m under a spell’ve Kaste’s, or somethin’? That we’re in love? Ugh.

We did… go on a date, though. Not a romantic date. A friendly date… with the objective of killin’ a certain Forsaken that had mind-controlled Kaste and sicced him on me like an attack dog. I…

I killed Kaste. It was a stupid accident.

I told Chrysalis that tonight. She’s the first one outside’ve Kaste that knows. She thought I’d condemn her for killin’ Verrin, and all I wanted to let her know that that I had no place judgin’ her. I killed a man I love. She killed Verrin. She broke an oath. I nearly broke myself. She could bring him back. I… I was left stunned, dazed… couldn’t call him back from the Nether on my own.

S’funny, how you think you’ll be upset to hear somethin’, until you realize that you’ve been in a similar spot.

So, I guess it is true. I do love Kaste. He sent me a letter, a while back, sayin’ the same–that he loves me. None’ve this is in the romantic way, though, ‘course. But I’d die for him. I’d die rather than hurt him. I want to see him happy. Bein’ with him makes me feel happy, like I can forget ’bout all’ve the weight that just bein’ in the Guard puts on my shoulders. He doesn’t expect nothin’ of me.

I love him like a brother, I s’pose. I mean, ‘course, I’ve never had any siblings. But like a brother… just a much taller, bluer one. One more time for the record, we ain’t together.

Verrin told me that he still loved me. Even after takin’ time and thinking ’bout he, he said that even knowin’ my darker side, that he loved me all the more. He’s offerin’ me unconditional acceptance, and I guess there’s a part’ve me that wants to run headlong into that and hide there. He asked me if I thought I could ever love him the same.

I… well, I don’t know. I make a point’ve not thinkin’ when I probably should. What I do know, is that right now I don’t want to fall for anyone. I know I’ve tended to talk big ’bout falling in love–that if it happened, it happened, if it didn’t, it didn’t–but now I just wanna avoid it. It’s too messy.

Where Two Ain’t Two

Verrin spoke with me last night. He wants me to tell him, in honesty, that I’ll never love him. How can I know that? How can he ask me that? What gives him the right to ask anythin’ he asks me?! I keep my life neat and ordered ’nuff ‘fore all’ve this, and now I can’t even look into my head without gettin’ lost or feeling vertigo dizzyness, like down is up and two steps ain’t always two steps, sometimes its five or three or one or I ain’t movin’ at all–

And then there’re nightmares. The only way to keep ‘em away is to fall ’sleep so exhausted that nothing can move inside my head, though that don’t even work some nights.

Chrysalis is ‘pparently gonna try to ‘help’ Verrin, and when I found out that she might intend to kill him, I was… angry. If anyone gets to kill him, it’s me, and that ain’t even an option that I’ve given myself after… after the day on the beach. He betrayed me, not the rest of them, not anyone else. His blood’ll be on my hands, if that’s what it comes to–though I’ll work for every inch’ve me ‘gainst that too. I trust Chrysalis though. She told me she wouldn’t kill him.

The Silverlord wanted to speak with me, and though I tried to avoid him, he eventually came down to where Chrysalis and me were in Silvermoon ‘gainst my assurance that I’d be fine, and that he didn’t need to get his hands dirty with anymore’ve it than he’d already be expected to with the ‘trial’ comin’ up. He was understandin’, even when I told him that I would’ve killed Verrin when I found out.

And we talked a little earlier, and the Silverlord… made some confusin’ remarks. I think I’d be angry if I wasn’t still more shocked than not. Angry ’cause for some damned reason it’s gotta be when a girl’s fallin’ apart that she gets so much attention. S’when you’re feelin’ vulnerable and broken that everyone wants to dig their claws into you. Maybe people wanna feel like heroes or saviors, and maybe they can smell vulnerability like sharks can smell blood in open water. I just want to be left in peace to lick my own damn wounds.

Kaste kissed me… more than once in the past few days. The first time ’cause he wanted to make the point that we both don’t feel nothin’ for each other, least not romantically. ‘Course we don’t–but I could’ve practically coughed up my own beatin’ heart when he surprised me with it. And then he had me help him with some other damn version of an ‘anti-love potion’, which backfired (thankfully not to the same scale, ’cause I was prepared for it). I knocked him out, and he seemed to come out’ve it well ’nuff; he’s tellin’ me that his friends… or the people he talks to, don’t know if they’re necessarily his friends, keep tellin’ him that we should be together.

‘Cause clearly, two people can’t enjoy each other’s company less they’re really only lookin’ to knock boots–even moreso ’cause he’s a troll and I’m an elf, and certainly there’s even less room for friendship there, right? I ain’t sayin’ I’m a mysterious woman, or that I’m hard to figure out, but I’m tired of people speakin’ on my behalf. Don’t matter if it’s Verrin (who’s master, Kiros, ‘pparently thought he could make a slave out’ve me) or Kaste. If I don’t know what’s goin’ on in my own damn skull, how in the Nether do other people seem to think they do? Even if they’ve got the best intentions (not that they all do), can’t I just get left ‘lone?

Verrin says he’ll try to stop askin’ me questions, and I don’t know if that’s really gonna help or not. It’s what I want, but what if be givin’ myself time to cool down and let things settle in my head, I just mess things up worse? What if it’s like a mess’ve broken bones, that if they ain’t set right to begin with, grow funny and crippled till you gotta break ‘em all over? I get upset and tell him that he’s got to grow from his pain, while I hide from analyzin’ anything inside myself. Hypocrisy ain’t my aim, but I’ll be damned if it ain’t the path I’m walkin’.

What doesn’t kill you…

Roughly three pages are completely filled with what seems to be the same phrase, over and over again. The letters are disjointed, and standard punctuation and spacing appears to be used very infrequently. In one of the more legible cases, the phrase reads as: ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’. Eventually, more coherent writing emerges.

Or maybe that’s just what people gotta tell themselves, so they can feel like they’re movin’ forward ’stead of in circles all the time. I don’t feel stronger. I just feel kind’ve… broken.

I hate this, I hate all’ve this.

Trolls and demons.

Kaste and me’ve been talking recently, and I’m realizin’ that I like him a good deal. He seems like a solid ’nuff friend, doesn’t come ’round with mind games or manipulation. Maybe it’s just ’cause he ain’t an elf. Maybe I’m bitter. I’ll get on with that in a moment, s’pose.

Helped slap some bandages over his ribs, and he seemed almost shocked that I didn’t want no coin for it. S’funny, how people always seem to find it odd when a payment ain’t in silver or gold. A favor is worth more’n a sack of gold, least the way I see it.

Helped him and a few’ve the Guard with some’ve the Trolls in Zul’Furrak today. Got a little bloody towards the end, but otherwise went all right. I’m findin’ that I can joke ’round with Kaste, and that takes some’ve the sting and the shame off’ve the whole love potion mess.

Mostly I’m glad that I had somethin’ to do with my time, ’cause I’m not sure how well I could handle sitting ‘lone with my thoughts lately. ‘Course, find myself here doin’ just that now, heh.

Verrin…

Damn him. He told me he’s got feelings for me, and asked me to kill him–both in the same night. Hell, for him they weren’t even two different messages; one made him want the other. Told me… explained to me… how I couldn’t ever be like him, so I ain’t got anything to worry ’bout there. Because even if I’d maybe enjoy some dark things, I don’t indulge, and that’s what separates us. He seemed sure ’nuff, but to me it’s just ‘nother line drawn in imaginary sand.

He was right though. We know each other. Least, understand each other.

I don’t know why he thinks I’m any better’n any of the rest of the women in the Guard, but askin’ seems like it’s in such bad taste, and I don’t wanna put him through that. But there are women prettier, and smarter. More morally  upstanding, or morally ‘corrupt’. More righteous, if that’s what he’s lookin’ for. More deadly, too.

I hope he don’t think that I can ’save’ him. How can I? I’m not even as desperate or hopeless, but I still feel like even my own stupid problems are more than I can bear.

I should hate him, but I don’t. If I do, it’s because I never want to be like him–much as he tells me I don’t need to worry ’bout that. He said he wants to be a part of my life. I want him to be a part of my life, though maybe held away at arm’s length. I want to see him get better. I want to see him get hold of whatever it is he’s really chasin’, and I want it to do him some good.

I feel so naive, so disgustingly pathetic.

But if Verrin can overcome his demons, then everyone can. Then I can. Then maybe the world’s got some order to it, instead of just slippin’ further and further outta control.

‘Course, the kicker is that part’ve me likes the beauty of chaos, of things fallin’ apart. Somethin’ a little too animal in me wants to laugh in Verrin’s face ’bout all of this. I’m not a good person, I want to say, teeth bared and grinning and already tastin’ blood and heat.

And he’d understand.

Damn him.

Events are cowards. Can’t ever fight alone.

Mazikeen sits in the corner of a small inn room, exhausted and slumped in her chair. The journal is open on her lap, and it seems to take a great force of will for her to move the quill tip across the pages. A little further off a figure sleeps fitfully on the bed, tossing and mumbling.

It started a few nights ago. Alkaiser said he wanted to speak with Zaliron, and I s’pose I just figured it’d be a few harsh words. Guilt ain’t anything new to me, but I should’ve done something. My luck though, interfering then would’ve just made the situation worse.

He didn’t show up at his house that night, and I guess I didn’t think much of it. I know what it’s like to have business that runs over-long. The next day I found a note in my mail from Verrin, the new mage, askin’ me to meet him. It was as vague as that, and curiosity ain’t something that can be easily denied.

He wants me to teach him how to fight dirty. I don’t know what to make of him, only that something ’bout him makes me feel uncomfortable–not because he don’t understand what I am, but because he does. I… well, to make short of it, ’cause it ain’t my primary concern right now, I said yes.

A voice rose from the corner–murmuring something incoherent about demons and fear. Mazikeen roughly brushed a tear from the corner of her eyes, which fell and smudged the ink on the paper.

I can’t believe what they did to him. It ain’t right, you can’t… Gods. I talked to Alkaiser even, and I’ve never imagined myself as someone to do anything like the sort (I might not be the most ardent follower, but I try to keep my peace, ’specially under leaders).

A leader doesn’t break someone that pledges their life to him–or allow a second-in-command like Arathael to do it. It’s… it’s pathetic and wrong and the worst kind’ve betrayal. And I know what it looks like–I go to Alkaiser and he assumes that it’s just ’cause me and Zaliron take our nights together. I ain’t stupid. I know that Zaliron is arrogant, and I know it’s gotta be fixed.

But they didn’t do that. He’s… he can’t even go near demons. He’s been staying in an inn.

Damn them both.

Damn myself for not being more forceful when I talked to Alkaiser. I shouldn’t've settled for what he thought were rational words. He made a mistake. Nobody ever deserves to be hurt like that by someone they’re s’posed to trust. My faith in the leadership of the Guard suffered s’first blow, and I guess for that it stings even more.

I got Zaliron to come out here to Farstrider Retreat, away from Silvermoon. Fetched a few pillows and robes for him, tryin’ to help him get comfortable. Looked like something had ripped through the house, and his demons weren’t happy that I didn’t leave ‘em with any answers. I ain’t much’ve one for conversing with demons, and the only thing I could tell ‘em was to wait some more. And at least get the damned door back on its hinges.

I want to protect Zaliron, and I want to see him better, but I’m sore over some of Alkaiser’s words. He told me that I was a good influence on Zaliron, and I wanted to spit something hard and mean back in his face, but I was too busy cowering and being ’sensible’. I wish people weren’t so damned sure that I’m a good person–well, I mean, it ain’t my job to fix anyone. I don’t want that responsibility. I can’t bear that responisibility.

‘Sides, why in the Nether should it be MY job, or ANYone’s job, to fix the messes of our humble, righteous leaders?

And now? Now I’m angry. All I can do is sit and seethe while the rest’ve the Guard take their digs at Zaliron, and if I speak he looks weaker, or I look over-protective.

Part of me doesn’t care. Part of me wants to say to the Nether with ‘em all, and the next one with a snide comment about Zaliron will get their tongue skewered to the roof of their mouth.

I want to see him strong again.

I will see him strong again. The rest’ve ‘em can choke on dynamite. I’d even be so kind as to light the fuse.

Mazikeen sighs, the momentary rush of anger fading and leaving her with less energy than before. She closes the journal, tosses it back into a bag near her feet. Looking around, it is still very dark inside of the room, save for a few small candles near the bed (she didn’t want Zaliron to wake up in darkness in the middle of the night)–it won’t be morning for a few more hours.

And, from her seat, she knows they will be long hours. Thinking hours. She leans her head back to the wall behind the chair, and watches over the troubled Warlock.

She does not sleep.

A Formal Party

Mazikeen sat in a corner of her room in the Silverguard Halls. The Rogue didn’t keep a home of her own, though her mother’s old house (much of it repaired by those who had fond memories and old debts to the healer) was officially under her care. This was how she liked it–permanent homes frightened her a bit: if the need should arise, she liked the idea that she could get up and walk out of a place and not be leaving anything valuable behind.

Now however, those weren’t the foremost things on her mind. The door to the room was locked, and she was curled up in the corner furthest away from it. Any furniture that was orginally there had been pushed out of the way. It would be hard to see her, having made her body so small–but it wasn’t for show, or because she expected any kind of intrusion. Her body language mirriored how she felt: little and confused, backed into a tight space. Her journal was resting against her propped up knees, and beside her, resting on the floor, was a rose that had mostly dried now, after being pressed between the pages of the large leather-bound book.

In one hand she held the quill she was writing with, and in the other a well-crafted, brightly shimmering necklace.

Damn it.

Just, damn.

The formal party was tonight. Generally I’m not one to get well, overly excited ’bout parties. And for good reason, so it seems. I just… just wanted a good night. A happy night. Lisette even convinced me that I should go in a dress, and I did!

Started off well ’nuff. ‘Parently Achates even had a date, which was heart-warming in it’s own way. Zaliron made a scene of that, must’ve laid his pride low. Then he made a scene outta Miralan’s formal attire (though I s’pose it’s kinda hard t’blame him for that–was a bit shocking). Few minutes later he asked me to dance.

I probably should’ve said no, and been blunt ’bout it. Truth is though, much’s I tease Zaliron (gods know I ain’t the only one, or the worst one) there’s a part’ve me that’s curious. Maybe just curious ’cause of how much everyone else seems t’dislike him, maybe curious ’cause for all’ve how he treats Achates and dresses like a king, he’s a fool around women. Instead… ’stead I drew Aysera into it, which I’m sure she ain’t none too happy about. Told ‘im I’d dance with him if Aysera would dance with someone. Didn’t mean for it to be anything more’n playing, but Zaliron took it hard. Guess there’s only so many jokes you can have at someone’s expense ‘fore it sinks in.

Aysera ended up dancing with Erunen, so I kept my word. Zaliron didn’t seem so pleased at first, but after a bit of coaxing he allowed me to keep my end of the deal. We danced for a bit, and he… offered me a necklace that he had made. I was a bit stunned, honestly. I accepted. Why? Damn it.

It was going beyond just being playful, beyond just having a good time. I should have ended it. I had thought, Zaliron of all people, for all his flirting, would understand just wantin’ to have some fun. I should have thought more about it… but… I know I ain’t the prettiest of girls. I don’t paint my face in any make-up, or dress in the best clothes. I know I ain’t what Zaliron would be really lookin’ for, and that doesn’t bother me. I’m a big girl, right? I can handle knowin’ that. It was just nice to feel almost like one of those pretty soft girls for once. Nothin’ I’d like doin’ on a regular basis, but, well, it was nice while it lasted.

The Troll Kaste had come with Ysabelle. I guess she’s made outta harder stuff than I’d've thought, iff’n she’s willing to open herself up to the ridicule that might’ve come down on her shoulders. I’ve got no problem with Kaste, or at least, had none. It’s a tough lot in life, being a Troll that has a lot’ve dealings with Elves, and I’m not fool ’nuff to deny that. Kaste and Zaliron have some bad blood, which I’m sure Ysabelle’s got a stake in if I remember Zaliron’s branding ceremony.

Kaste told me… well, announced it really… that Zaliron had a machine in his basement that he uses to torture creatures, like Trolls, for fun. Achates andYsabelle were quick to assert that yes, this was true, each in their own way.

The ink was smeared here, where Mazikeen stopped. When the nervous trembles of anger ran their course, she began writing again.

I don’t know who to be more angry with–Zaliron becuase of the fact that he would have such a machine, or Kaste and Ysabelle for using the opportunity to attack him. They say that they wanted to ‘protect’ me, and I believe this to some extent…

…but I’m not a fool. I was used. I was the tool they used to get to him–and in public, during a party! Ysabelle even went s’far as to say that she didn’t want to see me ‘bruised up’ or some such, after her husband did the same to her. T’say such a thing at a formal gathering, such an accusation, and what’s more imply that I wouldn’t be able to handle myself–against Zaliron?

What sets my blood to boil is that she said that I could handle myself, just a few moments before the tensions hit their peak. Then she turns around, and says something like this? That kind of ‘conduct’ only makes me that much more sure that it wasn’t about saving me at all. Right then I felt like that damned dress was a joke, the night was a joke. I am what I am, and that ain’t something that’s gonna be manipulated so bluntly.

Maybe it was the wake-up-call I needed though: if I am what I am, that sure don’t include something Zaliron could ever really want. It’d be stupid and cruel of me to pretend otherwise, whether it meant tryin’ to fool him or me or both of us.

And there is that machine. How… gods. Achates was right. Part of me is interested, but every other fiber of my being is in revolt. Rogue business ain’t exactly pretty, and I’ve never fooled myself that Warlock business’d be any better. Knowing this, and seein’ how he treats Achates, I can’t refuse to believe my own damn eyes. There’s somethin’ in him that enjoys feelin’ strong by making others feel weak, whether’r not he says he’d never use sucha machine for “fun”.

But I’d be damned more’n a thousand times over ‘fore I’d play a saint. Most of me’s very clear about leavin’ well enough alone, and letting Zaliron find someone more like him, even if it means him hatin’ me in the long run. But there’s this gods-damned nagging feeling in my gut that’s insistin’ that I’m a liar if I tell myself that I’m any less corrupt; the same part of me that would almost want to see that machine. It’s the same part that doesn’t care if I ain’t what’s best for Zaliron, that says I shouldn’t bother caring whether or not I end up hurting him or he hates me a day from now, and that I should go to him. I tell myself I can’t do that, because I’m not like that, I’m not that selfish. I’m not the kinda person that can knowingly step inside of someone else’s heart and take everything I can, without regard.

So why do I feel this aching in my bones, something crying out hungrily that ‘Like calls to like‘, and I can tell myself whatever I want, but it don’t change a damn thing?

Mazikeen stopped, and rubbed at her temples with an exhausted sigh.

I got the potions from Karios today. She was happy to oblige, in return for my protection of her business. I trust her.

I don’t know if I should wait, but I do know that I won’t. Maybe this’ll help take my mind off’ve Zaliron and that mess. I’ll go to Aysera tomorrow. Doubt I’ll be able to sleep, so I suppose I’ll just go prowling ’bout Silvermoon for a while.

Though obviously tired out of her mind, Mazikeen closed the book. For a while she sat in silence–and a serious of violent shudders overtook her, and for a second it seemed like she wanted to cry. Fighting to regain her composure, the Rogue balled her hands into fists and stood. Tossing the journal to her bed, she opened the window in her room, and slipped out–easily scaling down the wall and then dropping to the city street below.

Unwanted Interruptions

My head’s feeling much more clear after spending some time away from Hillsbrad. I traveled to a place called ‘Thousand Needles’, and the air there was wonderfully dusty and arid, unlike the too-perfect coolness of Hillsbrad.  I had to tie my mask even closer than usual, but that didn’t do much to save my eyes when a strong gust blew. And the way the Tauren have set up camps at the top of these ‘needles’, the giant rock formations way up in the sky… well, it sure is a sight.

I’ve also been spending my time battling in the Gulch and the Basin. My hard work didn’t go unnoticed–today I was able to pick up a nice new pair of boots, which I sorely needed. They’re possibly my finest piece of armor so far: this Horde sure does reward well for those that would defend it, and I ain’t got no problem with that.

However, what’s buggin’ me now as I write this…  the first meetin’ for the Silverguard was today. Aside from a couple irritating encounters with a human, things seemed to be going nicely, when this gorram mage decided to step in. Never seen the elf in my life. She was standin’ around for a while, which didn’t really bother me none–after all, Silverguard business ain’t naturally the dishonest type, and if citizens wanna be onlookers, let them gaze on at the might and power of the arm that would defend ‘em, right?

Then, then she decides to start some trouble. Creating that mage-fire around her arms. I didn’t wanna go disruptin’ the meeting, so I walked around the back of the crowd and made my way to her. Politely, ever so politely, whispered to her that she could sit tight or I’d be happy to escort her out. She told me something like, “Sit back and watch the show”. What is that supposed t’mean? Course, I wasn’t gonna settle for someone making any kind of show out of one of the Silverlord’s meetings. Told her I’d drag her out if necessary.

 Then she said something a might curious. Something like, one, I wouldn’t be able to be draggin’ her out and two…

The second part I don’t even want to write down. I know it’d be safe here, but  it just don’t feel right. Ain’t my secret to confide in writing, in a magic book or not–when I talked with Arathael about it later, he told me not to tell anyone, save Alkaiser.

 I’ll let it burn inside of me, for now, suppose.

What I do know is that I certainly wouldn’t mind meetin’ our little Mage friend for a chat in the darkest stretch of Murder Row. But no, that ain’t acceptable now. I’m part of this Silverguard–don’t just gotta be responsible for my own actions, but how they reflect back on everyone else. Beatin’ her within an inch of her life probably wouldn’t please anyone, let alone the Silverlord. Don’t mean I couldn’t always just give her a good scare, though…

Other news is, Rasar’s left. Or rather, Alkaiser forced him out. Can’t say I disagree overmuch with the decision. Rasar seemed like he had a damn good mind, came from some good experience. I’m not one to judge, either, but it did always seem like maybe he wasn’t in the right place. He asked me to give Aysera his regards, and that ain’t a promise I’ll be forgettin’ any time soon.

 I’ve got a headache now, probably from dealin’ with that Mage. Don’t want to go to sleep angry. Maybe I’ll take a walk somewhere.